


Bottled Memory

by NotPersephone



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: F/M, Or Is It?, Pre-Series, fake date
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-17
Updated: 2017-04-17
Packaged: 2018-10-20 04:21:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10654803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotPersephone/pseuds/NotPersephone
Summary: Bedelia has to attend a tedious social event involving her parents and Hannibal offers to accompany her.





	Bottled Memory

“Is everything all right, Doctor?” Hannibal’s eyes remain fixed on Bedelia, concern and curiosity shining through.

“Yes, Hannibal. I am fine,” she holds his gaze. There was something on her mind, but she was certain her professional façade could assure any patient. She has forgotten that Hannibal Lecter is not just any patient.

“You seem troubled,” he presses on, not convinced by her reassurance.

“If you find that I do not give you my full attention, I apologize. Perhaps we should reschedule.”

“No, not at all,” his eyes fill with sadness at the thought of their meeting ending prematurely, “I am worried about you, that is all.”

“I am your psychiatrist. You are not mine,” she yields the statement like a shield, but does not know whether it serves to keep him at a distance or rather her.

The session continues as usual. He chooses red.

They savour their drinks in silence, Bedelia perches on the side of the chair and Hannibal looks out the window. She regards his solemn profile, grand posture, and dark eyes, the ones that hold surprising warmth every time they fall on her.

“I apologize if I was too harsh,” the words come out before she has a chance to stop herself. It must be the wine. Hannibal turns and nods in acknowledgment, waiting for her to continue. He does not attempt to question her and it puts her at ease.

“There is a social event I must attend. It is not something I look forward to and it weighs on my mind.”

“I do not believe any social gathering is obligatory, especially the one that causes you discomfort,” he chooses his words carefully, ensuring he remains within the limits of boundaries she has reinforced once more.

“I am afraid it is not that simply. It is the charity gala for The John Hopkins Hospital.”

“I did not realise you were one of the benefactors.”

“I am not. But my parents are,” she drains her glass in one swift movement.

His eyes become wider and she can see his struggle between respecting the line and his desire to know her. Bedelia might have considered these new insights into the workings of Hannibal’s mind, but, at the moment, her own was keeping her wary. Her patient remains silent.

“My parents still insist on interfering in my private life. The gala is their way of doing so. My sister has moved away and this fact _excuses_ her from attending. Yet she is beyond reproach, as far as my parents are concerned.”

“How so?”

“She is the one who got married,” she looks at her empty glass. Perhaps it is time to rethink the after-session wine drinking.

 

The following week, Hannibal is the one who appears troubled.

Bedelia knows better than to question him. The cracks in his person suit shift and turn, making it difficult to manoeuvre. She waits for him to bring it up. The hour ends and he says nothing out of the ordinary. He lets her choose and she goes with pink.

“Are you still planning on attending the gala?” he engages slowly, swirling his wine, and breathing in its aroma.

“Yes,” the impending engagement remains on her mind, along with the regret of discussing it with him. The wine is refreshing and she enjoys the acidity flavour, tingling on her tongue.

“I was thinking- “he clears his throat,” perhaps I could accompany you.” He looks at her, a mix of uncertainty and hope in his eyes.

“As who? My _date_?”

“No- “he hesitates,” Well yes, but only for the benefit of your parents. It could spare you the uninvited inquiries.”

Bedelia looks at him as though he has just proposed his hand in marriage.

“I am sorry, I hope you do not feel offended. I merely wish to make this event more pleasant for you. You have helped me so much, I would like to return the favour, as your _colleague_ , “the word seemed to taste bitter on his tongue.

“No, I am not offended,” she watches him carefully, searching for any hidden intentions behind this unusual proposal. He holds her gaze, inviting her to look beyond his veil, patiently waiting for her appraisal.

Bedelia is about to dismiss the offer as completely preposterous, but considers his words. The prospect of having her parents attempting to set her up with yet another suitable bachelor turns her blood ice cold. The lesser of two evils, as they say…

“All right. You may join me,” she utters the words before her common sense gets a chance to recover, “I hope you do not feel as though I am taking advantage of our patient/ doctor relationship.”

“Of course not,” she has never seen him happier, “I am glad to be of assistance.”

Bedelia wonders if it is the most ill-fated decision she has ever made and refills her glass.

Hannibal phones during the week to confirm the time and details. She is close to calling it off, but does not. This is nothing, she tells herself, merely a favour between colleagues. This is not a date.

 

The doorbell rings at exactly 8 pm. Bedelia goes to answer the door, the familiar routine, yet a strange and new setting. She has chosen a navy gown for the evening, bare to just below her waist in the back. It flows around her as she walks, reminiscent of deep sea waters. Her hair falls over her shoulders in soft, golden waves.

She opens the door to find her only patient waiting for her. She has seen him countless times, but never like this; she finds him striking in a tuxedo and admires his elegance.

Hannibal looks at her and inhales sharply, his words nowhere to be found. Heat rises to her cheeks and, once again, she questions her acceptance of this arrangement.

“You look beautiful, Dr Du Maurier,” he finds the words at last, his eyes still drinking in every last drop of her.

“Good evening, Hannibal,” she replies, undecided whether to acknowledge the complement. Her cheeks remain burning. She chooses to look past him, at the unknown car.

“I have engaged a driver for this evening. In case you wish to leave early, the car is at your disposal,” he explains, offering his arm, a perfect gentleman.

“Thank you,” she closes the door and accepts his arm, as he leads her towards the car. This is _not a date_.

 

The outline of the building looms between the trees, as the car approaches its destination, bringing unwanted recollections of strenuous social events she could not have avoided.

Bedelia fights the urge to tighten her grip on Hannibal’s arm as they walk up the steps.

They enter the hall room which was transformed for the evening; ostentatious décor in keeping with the self-congratulatory theme of the evening. The room smells of old perfume and old money. A few known faces, not anyone she wishes to engage with, but most faces remain foreign and Bedelia prefers it this way. She feels exhausted and the evening hasn’t even started yet.

A waiter presents them with a tray of drinks and Hannibal takes two glasses. Bedelia inclines her head in gratitude, as she accepts the glass. At least the vintage is tolerable, she thinks as she takes a sip.

Her enjoyment is short lived as she spots two familiar faces. Hannibal follows her gaze to an elegant couple in their early 70s. A man in a tuxedo with short, grey hair, his eyes the same colour as Bedelia’s, yet they do not shine with depth like hers. A woman in a mauve dress with an immaculate platinum bob, her cheek bones almost as sharp as her daughter’s, but they do not adorn her face the way Bedelia’s do.

“Bedelia, you came,” a glass of wine in her hand, her mother attempts an awkward embrace neither of them seems to enjoy.

“You look wonderful,” her father’s tone is somehow warmer, yet still very reserved.

“I was not aware you were coming with someone,” her mother gives Hannibal an inquisitive stare. The surprise in her voice is underlined with subtle disappointment; Bedelia is sure she had many possible suitors standing by.

“This is Dr Hannibal Lecter,” she proceeds to the introductions,” Hannibal, these are my parents, Dr Edward and Daphne Du Maurier.”

Hannibal shakes her father’s hand and drops a brief kiss on her mother’s hand, a perfect smile on his lips. He navigates such events with ease and charm; a remarkable skill for a man like him, Bedelia concludes. So much talking with so little being said must be as arduous for him as it is for her.

“ _Every moment is a precious thing, having in it the essence of finality_ ,” Hannibal recites looking at her mother, who looks utterly perplexed.

“You share a name with a famous writer,” he offers an explanation.

“My mother is not fond of gothic novels,” Bedelia interjects and Hannibal looks at her with smile, “I personally find this one quite relatable, a woman attempting to live up to an impossible standard of someone she has never met.” His eyes linger on hers, her parents suddenly forgotten.

“Doctor? Which speciality, if you don’t mind me asking,” her father interrupts and their moment ends.

“Psychiatry.”

“Oh,” he does not hide his disappointment,” as a former surgeon, I find this discipline to be unchallenging and underwhelming.”

Bedelia notices a flash of red in Hannibal’s eyes, but it must a trick of the light, because it is gone a second later.

“I worked as a surgeon for many years, but the human body has its limits. The mind, on the other hand, remains an unexplored territory that never ceases to astonish me.”

“You and our daughter seem to share the same sentiment. We tried to convince her to pursue something more _practical,_ like paediatrics, but she was determined to follow psychiatry,” her mother says, waving her empty glass, looking for a waiter to refill it.

“The psychiatric association would suffer an irreplaceable loss, if she chose otherwise. She is brilliant, the finest in Baltimore.” 

Bedelia feels the heat returning to her checks. She finishes her wine and lets Hannibal relieve her of the glass.

The waiter is nowhere to be seen and her mother excuses herself to seek other refreshments, with her husband following right behind. Hannibal and Bedelia are left alone.

“Are you feeling all right, Doctor?” the concern in his voice is not unwelcomed.

“Yes, Hannibal.”

“Perhaps some fresh air?” he asks, making no comments on her parents or the awkward exchange and she is grateful.

“No, but thank you,” she offers him a half-smile.

The orchestra playing in the background strikes the first notes of Dvořák’s waltz.

“Would you like to dance?” Hannibal asks suddenly.

The thought of delaying further uncomfortable questions makes the offer alluring. “Yes,” she takes his outstretched arm.

He leads her to the dance floor, placing his hand lightly on her back. They have never been so close to each other and she is acutely aware of that fact.

They begin to move, slowly at first, like new lovers discovering each other for the first time. Bedelia finds him so easy to follow; the pressure of his hand, the angle of his frame, the step of his foot. They flow waterlike across the floor, nearly leaning onto one another, but barely touching. Every movement is in perfect sync. Bedelia is lost in a moment, her agitation lessening with every note. A moment that ends too soon. The music fades away and his arm leaves her back. She feels an odd regret.

The evening has taken an unforeseen turn.

“Another glass of wine?” Hannibal suggests as if reading her mind.

The night passes pleasantly and Bedelia knows she has her companion to thank for that. Even her mother’s usual remarks praising her sister’s family are easier to withstand with Hannibal’s hand resting gently on the small of her back.

When she finally bids her parents goodbye, he waits for her with a car at the ready.

 

The journey back passes in silence as Bedelia examines the events of night and the unusual feelings that stirred within her. She does not notice when Hannibal turns to look at her.

“The loss of my family was a pivotal moment in my life,” he interrupts the quietude and Bedelia’s thoughts,” The only thing I desired was to bring them back and I have not given much thought to people who are left with little reason to cherish theirs. Especially a family that cannot treasure someone as extraordinary as you, Dr Du Maurier,” his dark eyes turn warm once more.

“Thank you for coming with me, Hannibal. And for making my evening enjoyable,” she rewards him with a smile.

“The pleasure was all mine, Doctor,” his voice is soft and warmth radiates from his body, drawing her in. The evening has left her drained and vulnerable, she tries to convince herself.

Yet it does not stop her from leaning forward and kissing him. His hand moves to rest on her check and she is not surprised when he reciprocates with a kiss of his own. What surprises her is the way his mouth touches hers, soft and unhurried, savouring her. She sinks deeper into his arms with every brush of his lips against hers.

It feels like an eternity before she finally breaks the kiss, but does not move away. Bedelia’s eyes remain closed as their lips linger near to each other. She inhales slowly, relishing the heat of his body, considering how easy it would be to melt into his arms for one night, or perhaps for more than that.

Reluctantly, she pulls away at last.

“I apologize, that was inappropriate,” she avoids his eyes.

“You do not have to apologize for anything. Ever.” The car pulls to a stop.

 

Bedelia walks to her front door and Hannibal follows. He keeps his distance, as she attempts to restore the fragile boundaries of their relationship.

“Friday at 4.30 pm?” she puts on her best professional manner, but the thought of his arms around her lingers in her mind and she knows it is a memory that will never fade. She finally meets his eyes and sees the same longing as the one that fills her heart.

“I look forward to it,” he says. And he does not mean the session.

 

**Author's Note:**

> The title is of course inspired by a quote from "Rebecca". Since I have already named Bedelia's mother Daphne, I decided to run with a theme.
> 
> For more bedannibal worship, find me on tumblr (bedeliainwonderland). Always there to fangirl.


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